Crossroads & Amends
by suitsfiles
Summary: Donna is back, Louis has been named the firm's newest senior partner, and just about everyone has an important choice to make. One thing is clear: Pearson Hardman will never be the same. Plenty of fun for Harvey/Donna & Mike/Rachel shippers, as well as fans of Louis, Jessica & even our buddy Harold.
1. Ch 1: The Apology

**A/N: Ok, here's fic #2! This will probably be at least three chapters, probably more. I want to involve as many of the characters as possible, because I love them all! Also, just a quick note: this story assumes that Daniel is still around, and has named Louis as his newest senior partner.**

Louis Litt gazed silently through his office windows at the busy streets below. The sky was dark, save for the persistent hazy glow of the city, which was positively _pulsing_ with light and color and life. Louis couldn't even remember the last time he had seen stars.

He shifted his focus to his reflection in the glass pane. The man staring back at him seemed cold and unfamiliar. Had it really come to this? Had _he_ really come to this? Tomorrow he would cast the deciding vote. He, _Louis Litt_, would determine the very future of Pearson-Hardman. And he didn't even know who he was anymore.

Immediately his mind was flooded with words. Neutral descriptors—such as lawyer, supervisor, _senior_ partner—gave way to a myriad of other, less desirable adjectives. Devious. Conniving. Greedy. Pathetic. Incompetent. _Traitorous_. Louis shivered. He was a traitor. Or at least, he would have been. If it hadn't been for Harold.

But that hardly mattered now. Louis was at a crossroads, and he had already chosen what path he would take. The problem was, he had already burned so many bridges that choosing the right path made little difference for him personally. Jessica? Daniel? It just didn't matter. For Louis Litt, both paths spelled loneliness.

Louis straightened his tie and took a deep breath, eyes still fixed on his reflection. Maybe there was still hope for him.

He checked his watch. Donna would be leaving soon. Time to move.

He padded silently down the hallway toward Donna's desk. She hadn't so much as looked at him since her return—and that, he thought, was one thing that he could fix.

"Go away, Louis." He stopped in his tracks. She hadn't even turned around.

Louis cleared his throat. "How'd you know it was me?" he asked softly.

"I didn't. But somebody tripped my jackass alarm and well, I just assumed."

Louis bit his lip. Hands in his pockets, he stepped back to create a solid three-foot buffer zone between himself and the fiery redhead before him.

"Ok, I deserved that. Listen, Donna, I just—"

"Wow, Louis. Either you have bigger balls than I thought, or you're even more of an idiot. What makes you think I want to see your face? Like, _ever again_?"

Inside, Louis winced. He had heard those words before, spit straight from the mouth of a grieving widow. They had hurt then, and they didn't hurt any less now. He paused.

"I don't know. You know, sometimes I can't stand the sight of it myself," he said truthfully. "But unlike you, I don't have the luxury of telling myself to go away."

"Did you come here for pity, Louis? Because you're sure as hell not going to get it from me. In fact, look here, it's the world's tiniest violin, playing a song called 'I Don't Give a Shit'." Donna grabbed her purse and stood up.

"Wait, will you just give me a second, Donna? I'm trying to apologize."

"Apologize? You _humiliated_ me!" Donna hissed. Her expression had softened, however, and Louis had noticed. He did his best to seize the moment.

"I know! I did...I did that. And I'm not here to make excuses." Louis held up his hands in a gesture of peace. Donna rolled her eyes. He continued. "I just...I just wanted to return this ok?" He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a stunning diamond necklace. "It was on the floor underneath your desk. It must have fallen out when you...when you packed up your things."

Donna stared stupidly at the necklace. It must have cost _at least_ $10,000. She looked reluctantly from the necklace to Louis. "Um. That's...not mine."

"Isn't it?"

"Are you seriously trying to buy my forgiveness?"

Louis scoffed. "Of course not! ...unless it's working. Is it working?"

"Little bit. Keep talking."

"Gladly. How about over drinks? On me." At the look of disgust on Donna's face, he added, "Just friends." Her eyes narrowed. "Ok, _colleagues_. Just two people having a good time. Whaddya say?"

Donna sighed. "I don't know, Louis..."

"C'mon Donna, _please_? Just humor me will you? You know you want to. Come on. Wait, is that a smile? I think that's a smile." Louis clapped his hands together. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that is definitely a smile!"

Donna couldn't help it. He was such a dope! And at the end of the day, it was certainly hard to to believe that there was anything dark and sinister about Louis Litt. Maybe she still hated his guts, maybe not, but either way, she wasn't about to pass on free drinks.

"Oh _alright_!" she finally blurted.

"Yeah? YEAH! Ok. Uh...great. I'll just...I'll just go lock up my office and you can, you can..."

"I'll shut my computer off."

"Yes! Great. Thank you Donna, I promise you'll have a good time." He turned to walk back to his office.

"Louis?"

He stopped. "Yes?"

"Can I just ask you one thing?"

"Yeah, anything Donna. Shoot."

"Are you wearing underwear?"

Louis snorted. "Of course. Why would you—"

"Ok great! See you in a minute." Donna waved him off.

"Alright! Somebody's about to get _Litt up_!"

"No. Don't ever say that again."

"Right. Be right back." Louis grinned and strode off.

Donna finished shutting down her computer and turned to face Harvey's office. He was sitting with his back to her, looking out at the night sky. She was pretty sure one of his father's records was playing. She watched as he absent-mindedly traced the edge of his Scotch glass. She hated to interrupt whatever reverie he had lost himself in, but she had never left without saying goodbye.

She slowly pressed the intercom button on her phone. "Night Harv," she said.

He didn't turn around, but merely waved his hand in response. Silently, she wondered if this might be an act of God. Maybe she would be the one to persuade Louis to vote for Jessica. To win the game in overtime, so to speak. (Gosh, she was terrible at sports metaphors.) Perhaps this was her chance to truly redeem herself in the eyes of the firm. _Just the eyes of the firm? _The question hung in her conscience. She quickly dismissed it.

Finally Louis returned, freshly bathed in cologne. He stopped to clasp the sparkling diamond necklace around her neck before offering her his arm. Donna threw one last glance in Harvey's direction as they made their way to the elevators.

Moments later, Harvey sauntered into the hallway just in time to see them pass through the elevator doors. Immediately he felt his throat tighten. His chest felt like it was on fire.

He turned slowly back into his office. Despite all of his mind's brilliant rationalizations, he knew that what he was feeling had nothing to do with the hotdog he ate earlier that day. He was having emotions, and he hated it. Even worse, he was suddenly overwhelmed by the unfamiliar desire to _talk to someone_ about it.

Thus, it was with an ugly combination of anger, frustration and defeat that Harvey Specter hit the streets of New York City. Hailing a cab, he gave the driver the address of the first person that came to his mind. _Oh boy_, he thought sarcastically. _This ought to be fun_.

* * *

Across town, Donna found herself actually _liking_ Louis. Not romantically, of course. But as she watched him try way too hard to be charming and funny, it hit her: if Louis Litt would just stop _trying_ so damn hard, he might actually be charming and funny.

She motioned to the bartender for more drinks. If—no, _when—_their discussion turned serious, she wanted to be prepared. And it seemed as if that time was upon them. Louis's stupid grin had given way to another familiar look, one of quiet resignation.

"Donna, I'm so sorry," he began.

"I know."

"I crossed the line."

"You kinda did."

"Can I ask you something though? When you were holding that memo in your hands, that memo with your date stamp on it...you were at a crossroads. How did you decide that destroying it was the right thing to do?"

Donna was visibly surprised. "I had no idea what to do. I guess I just went with my first instinct."

"To protect Harvey."

Donna shook her head. She _thought_ that was why she did it. But after days of reflection, she had finally unearthed the real, naked truth. And it wasn't pretty.

"To protect _myself_." Her eyes dropped to the empty glass in front of her. "That's how I know it was the _wrong_ decision. I was only looking out for myself."

Louis nodded. He understood more than she could possibly know.

"But you do love him, don't you?" He just couldn't help himself. Even after all that had happened, he still needed to know.

Donna slowly tore her gaze from the table. Louis's face was patient, undemanding. He was finally giving her a chance to explain.

And explain she would.

_To be continued..._


	2. Ch 2: The Pizza

Mike Ross wanted pizza. He didn't care how many figures he was pulling in these days; it was late, and his stomach was crying out for a big, thin, New York-style Supreme. So it was that when he heard a series of sharp knocks, he leapt to his feet, grabbed a wad of bills from his little kitchen table and flung open the door.

Harvey stepped back.

"Ok you're...not the pizza guy." Mike furrowed his brow. "Oh God. Don't tell me. Should I be putting on a tuxedo right now?"

"Very funny. Can I come in?"

"Is there _any_ chance that this...whatever this is...can wait?"

"Why, got a hot date?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. With New York's best pizza."

"Lombardi's?"

"What? No. Everybody knows Mariella has the best pizza."

"_Mariella_? No way."

"See, this is why I'm not letting you in. You're not worthy of my pizza. And just so you know, Oprah and her friend Gale voted Mariella as the best pizzeria in New York City. The whole city, Harvey!"

Harvey shook his head. "I'm not even gonna touch that."

At that moment, the actual pizza delivery guy arrived. "Mike Ross?"

"Yeah, that's me." Harvey said, opening his wallet before Mike could protest. As the delivery guy headed back down the stairwell, he turned to Mike, holding up the pizza. He grinned. "Pizza delivery for Mike Ross."

Mike rolled his eyes. "Oh, I get it. You paid for my pizza and now I have to let you in my apartment. Fine." He stepped aside, allowing Harvey to enter.

"So," he continued, "to what do I owe this honor? This is the second time in a month that the great Harvey Specter has condescended to visit his loyal servant outside the palace."

Harvey ignored him. "What are you watching?" he asked, nodding toward the television.

"Oh, uh...it's Shark Week. On the Discovery Channel."

"Shark Week? You don't find that just a _little_ bit ironic?"

"I don't know, you tell me. _You're_ the Great White. I'm more of a..."

"Guppy?"

"I was going to say manatee."

"Manatee? You're seriously going with manatee. The cow of the sea."

"What? No! Manatees are actually incredibly intelligent creatures. They're gentle, and understanding, and..."

"Let me guess. What are 'Facts Mike learned as a fetus'? I'll take 'Famous Frauds' for $400, Alex."

"How about _what are you doing here, _Harvey?"

Harvey looked down. He hadn't exactly planned on coming here tonight. He sighed, his eyes wandering over the various objects on Mike's coffee table.

"Is that cheese dip?" He pointed to a bowl of thick, yellow-orange goo.

"Wait a minute." Mike snapped his fingers. "Oh my God." he said, realization spreading across his face. He pointed at Harvey.

"What? What is it?" Harvey's voice was slightly panicked.

"You're here because you want to hang out with me, aren't you?"

"No. I'm not."

"Oh you _so are_. Is this—are we?" He gestured between them. "Are we having a moment right now?" Mike made as if to give Harvey a hug. Harvey swatted him away.

"I just thought that maybe _you_ could use some company tonight," he said.

"Right. Ok." Mike smirked as he made his way over to the refrigerator. "Well, you just go ahead and make yourself at—" Harvey had already shrugged out of his suit jacket and sat down on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. "—home. Beer?"

"Don't you have anything stronger?" And then, "Haven't I taught you _anything_?" Harvey opened the pizza box and helped himself. He suddenly realized how much he enjoyed eating foods that could be folded in half.

Mike returned with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Harvey looked amused. "What? Grammy told me that I should always keep a bottle of single malt in the house. Never know when I'm gonna catch a cold." He plopped down next to Harvey and poured them each a drink.

Harvey chuckled. "I need to meet Grammy sometime."

Mike wasn't sure whether to take Harvey seriously or not. In fact, he found the whole situation rather disconcerting. Something was wrong, he thought. It had to be. He reached for the TV remote and pressed MUTE.

"So...are you worried about the vote tomorrow?" he asked tentatively.

"No. Louis is too much of a chickenshit to do anything stupid. He's terrified of Jessica. And he's way too self-involved to risk his job over this."

"Hmmm," Mike mused, "sounds like someone else I know."

"Hey! I was perfectly willing to risk my job to save your sorry ass," Harvey said through a mouthful of pizza.

Mike ignored him. "But won't Louis want to preserve the status quo? Hardman paid attention to him when no one else did. In the space of a week he got a raise, the promise of a bigger office, and now a seat at the table..."

"And if he votes for Jessica, she'll give him all that and more."

Mike nodded as he reached for another slice. "So voting for Jessica is a win-win."

"Exactly."

_Somehow, I don't think Louis sees it that way_, Mike thought. He remembered every hurt expression that had ever crossed Louis Litt's face. And he knew that at that trial run, something inside Louis had definitely snapped. A year ago, he would have been happy with just a promotion. Now, Louis knew that any recognition he got would be empty, devoid of any real sentiments of appreciation or respect. And if he wasn't going to be valued or respected, then by God, he would get his revenge instead. Revenge on whoever had cut him the deepest. And Daniel Hardman wasn't at the top of that list.

Several minutes went by as they chewed in silence, both lost in thought.

"So uh...did you know that Harold has a girlfriend?" Mike didn't take Harvey as someone who would be interested in office gossip, but he didn't know what else to say. Besides, he had probably already heard it from Donna anyway.

"_Harold_? Louis's coffee boy Harold?"

"Yeah! I mean, get this. The guy goes out and gets a tattoo, and it's not even 24 hours before he's in the copy room making out with that new librarian."

"The blonde?"

Mike nodded approvingly. "The blonde."

"Huh. Must have been some tattoo," Harvey remarked.

"Right? And he's being really secretive about it...won't let any of us see it."

"Well yeah. It's probably the word 'MOM' with, you know, a heart around it." Harvey traced a heart in the air.

Mike laughed. "No, one thing I can tell you is that Harold Jakowski is definitely not ashamed of his mother. He has her picture as his screensaver for God's sake. Anyway, we have a bet going to see who can guess—"

But Harvey's mind was elsewhere. He had unknowingly spent the last few seconds staring distractedly at the empty glass in his hand, twisting it in slow circles as he pictured Donna and Louis laughing over drinks...Louis undressing Donna with his eyes (not that he didn't do that every day), Donna wearing that dress that she wore last New Year's Eve (maybe Mike wasn't the only one with an eidetic memory...), the possibility that they might discuss what happened at the trial run...

Why was this bothering him so much? After all, he and Donna had already discussed it. She said she loved him as a brother, and that was that. Well, except for the very obvious fact that she was lying. But Harvey knew better than to push her. He had just wanted her to come back.

"Harvey? Are you uh...are you ok?"

"Hmm?" Harvey snapped back to reality. "Sorry...I just remembered something I need to do tomorrow," he lied. "You were saying something about Rachel?"

Mike's eyes betrayed a hint of concern, but he decided to let it go. "I said that Rachel passed the LSATs."

Harvey had only had a handful of interactions with Rachel, and brief ones at that. In his mind, he cared about her only because she affected Mike, and if Mike was distracted, well then, that affected him too. He tried to look impressed.

"That's great. And what's even better is that I was right. It was a good thing you took my advice and broke it off when you did."

"Why?"

"Even if you decided not to tell her, she would have figured it out when she started going to _real law school_. Come on, I didn't think I'd have to tell you that dating an _actual_ lawyer is a bad idea."

Mike sighed. "Good point. It doesn't matter anyway. You know, Donna was right: the feelings do go away eventually."

"Donna said that?" Harvey could feel his heart rate accelerating.

"Yeah, after you told me that I couldn't see Rachel anymore. You know, I've been wondering about that, too. Do you know who she was talking about? I just can't picture Donna dating any of the losers at the office. Maybe it was before she came to Pearson Hardman. You knew her then, right? At the DA's office."

In Harvey's mind, he and Donna were standing outside her apartment door. They were laughing—no, _giggling_— as she searched for her keys. He had only been over to her place once before, for some dinner party that she had grudgingly agreed to host...

He forced himself to return to the conversation.

"We didn't really ask about each other's personal lives." When had he become such a liar?

"She's your assistant. Doesn't she _schedule_ your personal life?"

"Well, I didn't ask her about her's, and I still don't. Because it's _none of my business_. And another thing: I never said that you couldn't see Rachel anymore. I just said that you couldn't tell her the truth."

"Same thing," Mike muttered. Then he thought of something. "Weren't you worried that Donna would turn on you after Jessica fired her? She already knows our secret. And she was pretty pissed at you. Well, at both of us, really."

"I know Donna. She would never do that."

"Neither would Rachel."

They glared at each other for a moment, daring one another to speak. Harvey set his glass on the coffee table and stood up. The whiskey was almost gone.

"You know what? Do whatever you want. But if things go badly and we _both_ lose our jobs, then trust me when I say that you will regret the moment you ever set_ foot_ in my office with that pot-filled briefcase." He stepped backward towards the door.

"Harvey—look, I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated, you know? I'm not like you. I want more than just one night stands." Mike sighed, shaking his head. "I hope Louis doesn't surprise us tomorrow."

"Me too." Harvey checked his watch. It was late, and he should really try and get some sleep. "Mike?" he said with a smile. "Thanks for the pizza."

"So what do you think?"

"About what?"

"The pizza. It's the best, right?"

Harvey bent down and grabbed the last piece.

"Nope." He took a big bite as he walked out the door, casting one last playful glance at Mike before shutting it behind him.

Mike slumped further into the couch. Harvey wasn't going to fire him if he told Rachel the truth. But he was right: it _was _risky. Mike rubbed his eyes. He was tired, and this decision could wait until after all of this Hardman stuff blew over.

In the back of the cab, Harvey's mind was in overdrive. The truth was, he wanted what Mike wanted. And the time for him to "find the right girl" _was_ running out. Would Donna really stick by his side forever, with nothing in return?

"Dammit," he whispered under his breath.

In twelve hours, Louis Litt would determine the fate of the firm. In twelve hours, Harvey could rest easy knowing that Jessica would remain queen of the castle, and he the captain of her royal guard. He couldn't wait to see the look on Hardman's face.

When he walked into his apartment, he realized that he hadn't checked his phone since he left the office. He had one text message, from Donna Paulsen. It was a short one.

_Louis is ours. See you tomorrow._

_To be continued..._

**A/N: I wasn't sure whether or not I should acknowledge some of the events that took place in "Asterisk." Obviously, I decided to pick and choose. :)**


	3. Ch 3: Harold

Louis studied Donna's flawless features as he slowly finished off his drink. God, she was beautiful. In his heart, the jealousy and bitterness he harbored towards Harvey clashed fiercely with the tenderness he now felt for the woman in front of him.

"You should tell him," he said simply.

Now that he knew how she felt, he couldn't help but root for her. And as much as he adored her, he understood that they weren't really right for each other. Besides, Louis was a people-pleaser first and foremost, and he knew that his mother wanted nothing more in life than for him to marry a nice Jewish girl. So, he would work on that.

Donna managed a half smile and shook her head. "It wouldn't make a difference."

Louis's eyes sparkled. He reached forward and took her hand. "Au contraire," he said, smiling. "I think it would make all the difference in the world."

* * *

[EARLIER THAT DAY]

Mike leaned over Harold's cubicle. "Come on Harold, it can't be that bad."

"I'm telling you, it's not _bad_, Mike. It's bad_ass_. But I'm still not going to let you see it."

"Why not? You've been waiting months for this. Don't you want to show it off?"

"I'm just not ready, ok?"

"Fine. At least tell me this: why did you want a tattoo in the first place?"

Harold sighed. "I thought it might make me feel different, I guess."

"And do you? Feel different?"

"I don't know," Harold said honestly. "I'm just so sick of being invisible, you know?"

"Of course he doesn't know." Louis Litt strode over and slapped a hand on Mike's shoulder. "He's Harvey's rising star." Mike rolled his eyes as Louis turned his attention to Harold. "Where are those records I asked you to get for me?"

"I...uh..."

"Harold, I want you to listen to me, and I want you to listen close. Do you want to be a good lawyer?"

"Ye-yes sir, of course I do."

"Then you had better start doing. your damn. JOB. Because right now you are so unremarkable that I doubt even your own _mother_ notices you. Do you want to be a great lawyer, Harold? How about _exceptional_? Every day we are faced with choices, and it's not always a decision between right and wrong. Sometimes it's a decision between mediocrity, and greatness. And until you grow the _balls_ to pursue greatness, then yeah, you're going to be invisible, Harold. And if you don't have those records on my desk in fifteen minutes, you're going to be unemployed too."

Harold looked like he was about to cry. Louis walked a few steps before turning to deliver one last sting. "And Harold? What the _hell_ made you think that a tattoo would increase your credibility as a Harvard-educated attorney? That kind of thing is not fitting for an associate at Pearson Hardman. Get another one, and you're fired."

Mike smirked. "Guess I shouldn't tell him about my nipple rings..." he chuckled, stopping when he saw the look on Harold's face. Harold stood up and started in the direction of the kitchen.

"Harold! Wait. Louis is an asshole. Don't listen to a word—" But Harold was gone. Mike turned and stormed after Louis instead.

Meanwhile, Harold slipped into the kitchen, which was thankfully empty. He leaned on the counter for support, pouring all of his energy into not hyperventilating. When he felt relatively calm, he checked his watch. 11:30. _Might as well have a bite to eat_, he thought. He opened the refrigerator and retrieved the brown paper bag marked "Harold."

He tried to pack his lunch the same way his mom always had: a turkey sandwich with extra cheese, some chips, an apple, and three cookies (of course, he had to settle for store-bought cookies now; with Louis breathing down his neck 24/7, there was no way he had time for baking). Harold moved to the back corner of the room and carefully unwrapped his sandwich.

His mother had passed away two years ago, now. Ovarian cancer. It had been around Easter time. Some days Harold missed her so much that he could hardly function, and it was for the precise _opposite_ reason of what Louis had said. Harold's mom _had_ noticed him. She had _loved_ him. He fought back tears as he wondered what she would have thought of his new tattoo.

Suddenly, Donna and Rachel appeared at the doorway. They were deep in conversation, and didn't seem to notice him as they began rummaging through the cupboards, presumably in search of snacks. _The perks of being invisible_, he thought.

"Did you ever think, even for a moment, that maybe it was all a setup?" Rachel asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...maybe somebody planted that memo. Maybe it wasn't even real."

"Nah," Donna said, unwrapping a tootsie roll she had discovered. "It had my stamp on it. Someone would have had to have the balls to take that stamp from my desk and forge my signature. _Jessica_ doesn't even have the balls for that." She paused. "Well, you know what I mean."

Rachel laughed. "I suppose you're right."

Harold recalled the time he had accidentally used Donna's personal can opener. It had been one of the most terrifying moments of his existence, and Donna hadn't even been there. He shivered at the thought.

"Harold! Hey, Harold!" Donna snapped at him. He must have zoned out. "I swear, if you stare at my boobs for one more second I'm going to have to start charging you."

"I—what? No, I wasn't—"

But Donna would have her fun. She walked across the room and leaned over Harold seductively. "So... I heard you got a tattoo. Can I see it?"

"I really don't think that's a good—"

"It's ok, I've got one too. Wanna know where it is?" Donna leaned close and whispered something in Harold's ear. His eyes grew wide.

"Augh!" he exclaimed, standing up. Flustered, he gathered up his lunch and ran out of the room... _straight into Daniel Hardman_.

"Do you really have a tattoo?" Rachel asked.

"Nope," Donna said as she broke into a fresh bag of Cheetos. She grinned mischievously, sending Rachel (and herself) into a fit of giggles.

Meanwhile, Harold watched his apple roll merrily down the hallway. His first thought was that he wasn't ready to die.

"Oh my Go—sir—I am _so_ sorry," he stammered.

Daniel smiled. "That's quite alright. Harold, is it?"

Harold was flabbergasted. Daniel Hardman knew his _name_? "Yes, sir!" He paused. _This might be a good time to start begging_. "Please...please don't fire me."

"Fire you? For what, being enthusiastic about your work? I wouldn't dream of it." Harold had to admit, the man _did_ have a way with words. "Harold, can you do me a favor? I'm running late for a very important meeting, and I left my briefcase in my office. Would you mind getting it and bringing it to me in the conference room?"

"Ye-yes. Yes, of course. I'll be back in a jiffy, sir, I promise!"

"Great, thank you."

"A _jiffy_? Who _says _that? Ugh. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_," Harold muttered to himself as he bumbled his way down the hall to Hardman's office. He spotted the briefcase immediately, tripping over a (rather stylish) trash bin on his way to retrieve it. Swearing loudly, he knelt down and slowly began to replace its contents. _So much for a jiffy_, he sighed.

Suddenly, something caught his eye. A strange-looking object had slid halfway out of a large manila envelope. Harold carefully picked up the envelope and removed the mysterious artifact.

It was just a stamp. A date stamp. Harold turned it over in his hands. It was self-inking, with red ink, and the word "received" was stretched in such a way that the "R" and the "D" were larger than the rest of the letters. _Why would someone throw out a perfectly good stamp? _He stamped the palm of his hand for fun, because, what the hell—he was Harold Jakowski and that's how he rolled.

It wasn't until that point that something in Harold's mind clicked. _Wait a minute_. He stared at his hand. _That's Donna's date stamp_. He remembered it clearly. After Mike had told him not to touch her can opener, he had casually asked about her date stamp, which he had used numerous times when she wasn't around. As it turned out, that was off-limits too—it was unique to Donna, and Donna was very protective of her uniqueness.

Harold knew his discovery had implications that were beyond his comprehension. Slipping the stamp into his pocket, he restored the trash bin to its rightful spot, grabbed Daniel's briefcase and made his way back toward the conference room.

He slowed as he reached Donna's desk and prayed that she wouldn't notice as he quickly scanned her desktop.

"What did I tell you, Harold?"

...How did she _do _that?

"Sorry," he muttered. It didn't matter, he had found what he needed. There, between Donna's phone and stapler, sat her precious date stamp. So, Hardman had purchased an identical one. But why?

Harold slipped in and out of the conference room so quietly that—unsurprisingly—no one had really noticed. From there, he went straight to Louis's office.

It was time to pursue greatness.

The door was open, but he thought it best to knock anyway. Louis was reading and didn't look up. "Yes?"

"It's uh...it's Harold."

"Just leave them there." He gestured to the corner of his desk, eyes still glued to the document in front of him.

Harold cleared his throat nervously. "Actually... I have something else for you. Something pertaining to the in-house trial."

"What trial?"

"The fraud case. Against Harvey Specter."

Louis finally tore his eyes away from his desk long enough to shoot Harold a look of utter disdain.

"That case was closed days ago. Harvey settled. Where have you been? And where are my damn records? Harold, I swear if you don't listen to me—"

...And that was when Harold finally snapped.

"NO!" He yelled. "_You_ listen to _me_!" He slammed the date stamp down directly in front of Louis's nose.

"What? What is this?" Louis picked up the stamp.

"What does it look like? It's Donna's date stamp!" Harold hissed angrily.

"You took Donna's date stamp? So...what, you have a death wish? Because disrespecting me just became the _least_ of your problems."

"I found it in Daniel Hardman's office," Harold said, exasperated.

"I—what?" Louis did a double take. "Where?"

"I tripped over his trashcan and it just...fell out. I checked Donna's desk; she still has her stamp. This one is _identical_ though."

Louis sighed. "You _idiot_. He probably just uses the same one."

"I don't think so. Mike explained it to me once: Pearson Hardman has a contract with Manning Business Systems. They service our copy machines, and we buy all of our supplies from them. That's why everyone at the firm has the same blue stamps, except Donna. She must have brought hers with her from her last job or something."

Louis furrowed his brow as he studied the stamp. Harold was right. He could always tell which documents had been processed by Donna without even reading her name. It was that splash of red, the big "R" and the big "D." He shook his head in disbelief. When he spoke again, his voice was calm.

"Thank you for bringing this to me, Harold. But let me just make one thing crystal clear: you will _never_ speak to me that way again. Do you understand?"

Harold straightened up. "Yes, sir." He swallowed, gathering his courage. "Now let _me_ just make one thing clear." He rolled up his shirt sleeve, revealing the name "Diane" tattooed in beautifully ornate script across his right bicep. He glared at Louis.

"Who the hell is Diane?"

"Diane was my _mother_. And I swear Louis, if you ever mention her again I will tell _everyone_ about that time you asked Norma if she wanted to come over and watch Antiques Roadshow with you."

Louis went pale.

Harold smiled triumphantly as he rolled down his sleeve. "Hmm. Maybe being invisible isn't so bad after all," he said cheerfully as he walked away, leaving Louis to process what had just happened.

For Louis, processing what had just happened was easier said than done. (Well, the date stamp part—not the Norma part.) He was going to vote for Daniel. He had already decided that. But now...how could he be sure? There was no way to prove that Daniel had planted that memo. There was no way to prove that he hadn't. And while framing Harvey might ordinarily make someone Louis's hero, it made him sick to think that Daniel could have orchestrated the whole ordeal just to wrestle the firm from Jessica's grasp. Or was there more to it? Was this all about revenge?

Louis closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. What was he supposed to do? If the allegations were false, then Daniel could be his ticket to a better life. Except that, deep down, Louis knew that Daniel didn't care about him any more than Jessica did. Daniel was just a better liar. And if the allegations were true...

_You know who does care about you, Louis?_ came a voice from the back of his mind. _Donna._

In the end, it was Donna that changed Louis's mind. Because if Daniel Hardman really _had_ cooked up that whole fraud investigation, then Donna had been an innocent casualty. If that memo was a fake, then Louis had yelled at beautiful, perfect Donna for nothing. The thought of that alone was enough to push him over the edge.

So. Jessica it was, then.

* * *

[EVENING]

"That _bastard_." Donna's jaw tightened. She shook her head. "I should have known he'd use me to get back at Harvey."

"Remember, we don't know that for sure," Louis reminded her.

"_I_ do. I know he did it, Louis. I know it because _that's who he is._ That's the kind of man we're dealing with." Donna downed the rest of her drink rather quickly. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the empty glass, and for a moment Louis was afraid that she might become violent.

"At least you've got your perfect record," he offered. "Donna Paulsen still has yet to make a single mistake." He paused. "Harvey should know that."

"Well, technically I destroyed the memo when I still thought it was real." She sighed. "Are you going to tell Harvey?"

"You should tell him."

"It wouldn't make a difference."

Louis's eyes sparkled. He reached forward and took her hand. "Au contraire," he said, smiling. "I think it would make all the difference in the world."

Donna smiled and stood up. She hadn't missed Louis's double meaning. "It's late, and I need to go. _Thank you_, Louis." Giving Louis's hand one last squeeze, Donna kissed him on the cheek and turned to walk away.

"Oh, and Louis? If you ever try to use any of what I just told you against me, I swear I will—"

"Cut my balls off? Yeah, I know." Louis smiled.

"Just so we're clear."

"Goodnight Donna."

"Goodnight, Louis."

_To be continued._

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this little vignette about Harold. I thought he deserved a little attention. :) The next chapter will be about the vote! I already have it mostly planned out, and I wonder if it'll be anything like this week's finale. I guess we'll find out!**


	4. Ch 4: The Vote

**A/N: Thanks for your reviews, everyone; I appreciate it! After seeing High Noon, I realize there's no way I can really top Mike & Harvey getting high and partaking in shenanigans. Nevertheless, I've decided to continue re-imagining the events of the last few episodes. Hope you enjoy!**

Donna carefully angled her tongue toward the last glob of whipped cream in her hazelnut latte. No one could ever accuse her of failing to enjoy the little things in life, she thought. As she licked her lips, she became vaguely aware that Harvey was staring at her from his desk.

Harvey. She wasn't ready to tell him about Hardman's stunt...not yet. What was the point of upsetting him now? She didn't have a lick of proof, save for the uneasy feeling in her gut. Sure, maybe he would think better of her, knowing that she never made a mistake in the first place...except for the fact that she had still failed him. She had betrayed his trust—and worse, she still hadn't apologized for it.

It was her stupid pride that kept her from doing what was right. And if there was one thing that Donna knew about herself, it was that her pride was nothing more than a big white sheet draped carefully over all her vulnerabilities. One tear in the sheet and everything would come spilling right out, she was sure of it. She and Harvey were similar that way. They wielded their confidence as a weapon—which, when combined with their good looks and quick wit, just served to keep everyone at arm's length. Well, everyone except each other. In the end, they were just two fragile people toeing a very delicate line. What could go wrong?

"Donna." Harvey's voice emanated from the intercom, filling her cubicle. Although he would never admit it, Donna knew that he was anxious about the vote that afternoon. Distracted and unable to focus on anything work-related, he had taken to entertaining himself by pushing her buttons. It was the third time he had asked for her in the last fifteen minutes.

"Yeees?" she asked sweetly, careful to conceal her annoyance.

"Can you come in here please?"

Donna leaned against the door frame, one hand on her hip. She couldn't help it—everything about her body language screamed _What do you want, Harvey?_

"Hi." Harvey shot her a playful smile. She rolled her eyes. She addressed him in her familiar "mother hen" voice—the one that she often used on Mike (and just about every other associate in the place).

"Ok. Harvey, I know you're bored, but _I_ actually have things to do. Remember, _you're_ the one who asked me to clear your schedule today."

"Where's Mike?"

"Louis gave him a case. Wedding photographer sued by the not-so-happy couple. And let's see...he's been gone for about...twenty-five minutes, which means he probably just found out that his client never required a written contract. He'll be back in five."

"Ouch," Harvey grimaced. "Speaking of Louis," he said casually, "how was your little date last night? You two going steady?"

"Goodbye Harvey..." Donna spun on her heels and walked back to her desk.

"Did you get Litt up?" he called after her, laughing. As she pulled her chair up to her computer, Harvey's voice came through her phone yet again. "Donna?"

"Didn't you ever hear the story of the boy who cried Donna?"

"Nope."

"That's because no one lived to tell the tale," she said as seriously as possible.

Harvey smirked. "Look, I'm sorry. I just wanted to remind you to pick up some celebratory champagne before this afternoon."

"We haven't won yet."

"Oh, we've won. Trust me, if what you told me about Louis is true, then we've won." Harvey leaned back in his chair and locked his fingers behind his head. He grinned at Donna through the glass panes of his office. She shook her head and resumed the never-ending task of organizing her email inbox.

Harvey walked over to his record collection and selected one of his favorites: B.B. King, _Live at the Regal_. As the band kicked into gear and B.B. began one of his trademark guitar solos, he turned to the window and watched the sun begin to shimmer over the streets below.

He had dreamt about Donna last night. After what Mike had told him about her previous feelings, he would have expected the dream to be utterly inappropriate. Instead, it was perfectly ordinary—and for some reason, that bothered him more. In his dream, he had walked into his office to find his coffee and newspaper on his desk, and Donna near the window straightening his balls (well, maybe there _was_ a hidden message there). He didn't remember much else. It all just served to remind him of how loyal she was, how much he was holding her back—how much she had put her life on hold for him. And for what?

He knew he had a decision to make. Either he would have to show her that he really, _really_ cared (and if that made him weak and vulnerable? then what?), or he needed to let her go. The problem was, she had already left and come back. Firing her again would be brutal.

Which left Option A. The problem with Option A was that he had no idea how he felt about her, just that his feelings had changed since the trial run (or maybe they were simply awoken, having been there all along). He momentarily flashed back to his conversation with Mike several weeks ago. "You have plenty of time to find the right girl, Mike." He closed his eyes. He was such a fool sometimes.

Suddenly he heard the rapid thumping of heavy footsteps in the hall outside.

Like clockwork, Mike practically fell into his office, clearly out of breath. "Harvey! Hey, I know you have a lot on your mind today because of the partners' vote and everything, but Louis handed me a case this morning and it's not as clear-cut as I thought it would be so—"

"Stop." Harvey held up a hand. Mike stopped short and waited. "Were there witnesses to the verbal agreement?"

"Huh? How did you—"

"Focus."

"Right. Uh...yes, the mother of the bride."

"And did you see the photos?"

"Yeah, a few of them."

"And?"

"...and what?"

"What did you think?"

"I thought they looked great."

"Great. Now go out and find some other people who think they look great." Harvey gestured toward the door. "Professionals!" he added.

"Of course!" Mike said, turning to leave.

"And Mike? Find out what the couple _really_ thinks of the pictures. Look online, see if they posted them anywhere. Also, taking advantage of a photographer because he didn't offer a contract is bold, but not unheard of. I guarantee you'll find records of similar cases.

"Got it. Hey—thanks," Mike said gratefully. And he was gone.

Harvey sighed and looked at the clock. 8:30. The vote wasn't until 1:00. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Mike stood quietly in the doorway to Rachel's office.

"Go away Mike, I'm busy."

"You're playing Minesweeper," Mike said matter-of-factly.

Rachel looked up and then behind her, as if trying to figure out how he saw her computer screen. "How did you know?"

"Nobody clicks that furiously unless they're trying to beat their best time," Mike smiled. "Let me see." He walked behind her chair and leaned close to examine the situation at hand.

"There's one mine left, and it's one of these two."

"It's that one," he said, pointing.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep."

Rachel clicked the square Mike had indicated; suddenly, the virtual field was filled with detonated mines. "HEY!" she exclaimed, slapping Mike on the arm.

"What? I'm sorry!" Mike said, laughing.

"I guess you're not such a genius after all..."

"Why does everyone think that having a good memory makes me great at _everything_?"

"Hmm, I don't know. Maybe because _you_ think you're great at everything?"

Mike grinned. "Well actually, I'm here right now because I think _you'_re great at everything."

Rachel couldn't help but smile. "Ok, I'm listening..."

"You are going to make a fantastic lawyer, Rachel, and I thought: why not start now? I was wondering if you wanted to help me with this case Louis assigned me." Rachel looked skeptical, so he continued. "Not as a paralegal, but as a future associate. You would be like...my partner, or something."

"Mike, I can't just leave work to run around pretending to be a lawyer." Mike nearly flinched at the irony of that statement.

"Come on, nobody will even notice. They're all too distracted by the vote today. Please? At least come get some fresh air. I think you'll like this case."

"What is it?"

Mike went on to explain how Graham Swartz, a popular up-and-coming wedding photographer in Manhattan, had made a rookie mistake and done a shoot without a written contract. In his defense, he didn't think he needed one; the groom was his former boss, whom he'd left on friendly terms.

Graham was pretty sure that Chris wasn't the problem though; it was his witch of a wife Jillian who was unhappy (or at least, pretending to be unhappy) with the photos. To make a long story short, Jillian had hired an attorney to try to bully Graham into paying them a considerable amount of cash, presumably in order to avoid a more expensive lawsuit. Graham refused to pay and contacted Pearson Hardman for help.

Mike handed Rachel a folder. "Take a look."

Rachel opened the file and flipped through some of the wedding photos. "These are beautiful...how could she be unhappy with this?"

"That's what I thought." When Rachel finally raised her eyes to meet his, he smiled. "C'mon," he said, "let's go find some expert witnesses."

* * *

[LATER THAT DAY]

It was time.

Jessica Pearson couldn't keep her hand from trembling ever so slightly as she lifted the last folded slip of paper from the wooden box. She turned it over in her hand, smoothed it out and looked up, ready to face the many pairs of curious eyes.

She smiled sweetly.

"The managing partner is Daniel Hardman."

There was a smattering of applause.

Harvey was gone before another word was spoken.

* * *

Donna looked up from her desk. Harvey was walking briskly down the hall toward her. She stood up, smiling. "Back already? I'll go get the cham—ohhh shit."

Fists clenched tightly at his side, he stormed past her into his office. Donna squeezed her eyes shut as she heard the sound of breaking glass. _Thank God for flower vases_, she thought. Without them, people would destroy things they actually cared about.

What happened next was a blur. Donna remembered stuttering out a warning to Louis as he breezed past, hot on Harvey's heels. She remembered watching as Harvey spun around, grabbed Louis by the collar and slammed him against the wall. She remembered the sound of Harvey's fist connecting with Louis's jaw. And suddenly she was moving. Quickly.

"HARVEY! Harvey STOP!"

But Harvey was crazed, blinded by white hot rage. He reached down to pull Louis up, arm poised for another hit.

"HARVEY HE DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!" Donna yelled, this time running towards him.

Harvey turned and looked at her stupidly. He blinked slowly, panting. "What are you talking about?" He let go of Louis, who fell back to the carpet, rubbing the left side of his jaw.

"I voted for Jessica," Louis said evenly. "Harvey, it wasn't me."

Harvey looked from Louis to Donna, evidently confused. "He's telling the truth," Donna said carefully.

"What are you two hiding?!" Harvey shouted, his voice harsh and accusatory.

"I was going to tell you..." Ouch. From the look on Harvey's face, Donna knew that she had uttered those words one too many times. She hated herself for saying them again now. She paused. "Harvey, I think you'd better sit down for this."

* * *

Louis sat on the edge of Harvey's desk and pressed the ice pack gingerly against his cheek. Donna was telling the story of Harold's discovery...at least, he assumed she was. He was too preoccupied with making sure all of his teeth were intact. For about the eighteenth time he ran his tongue carefully along the inside of his mouth, checking for loose molars. He sighed wearily. None of this was supposed to happen, he thought. He, Louis Litt, had finally done the right thing. Everything was supposed to be butterflies and rainbows, dammit.

Donna and Harvey sat on the couch near Harvey's record collection. Louis watched as Donna handed the date stamp over to Harvey, who, despite his attempts to look stoic, instead looked positively murderous.

"The problem is, we don't have any real evidence," Donna finished.

Harvey stood up. "This is enough," he said, referring to the stamp clenched tightly in his fist. His voice was unusually low.

"What are you going to do?" Donna asked.

"I'm going to see Jessica _now_." He turned to Louis and his expression softened. "Louis, I'm—"

"Save it, Harvey. I know how apologies drain you. If we're gonna kick Hardman to the curb, we need Harvey Specter at his very best." Like Harvey, Louis was an expert at delivering insults wrapped in compliments. Harvey nodded. He gave Donna one last fleeting glance before charging off toward Jessica's office.

Louis met Donna's eyes. Neither said a word, though they were thinking the same thing. This...this was going to get _ugly_.

_To be continued._


	5. Ch 5: The Threat

**A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long to post! There's some fun for Mike/Rachel fans in this one, and we're heading toward a big Harvey/Donna moment in the next chapter...promise! **

On the roof, Jessica Pearson still felt like a queen. If asked, she might even say that she felt _peaceful_. Her eyes roamed the tops of lesser buildings, watched people scurry like tiny ants along the sidewalks below. When the door creaked open behind her, she knew it could be one of two people: either Daniel, bringing more of his sugary I-hope-we-can-continue-working-together rhetoric, or Harvey, being...well, Harvey. She decided not to turn around and instead focused on the cool breeze sifting softly through her perfect black hair.

"I thought I might find you here."

"You know me well," she replied as Harvey came alongside her. He leaned over the barrier and looked down, as if to gauge the length of the drop.

"You jump, I jump," he said with a slight smirk.

Jessica smiled. "Always the comedian. No one's jumping today."

"We could leave, you know. Start over."

"And not practice law for a year? I don't think so Harvey."

Harvey sighed. "What are we going to do?"

"We are going to wait—"

"Wait? For what? If we wait, Daniel will drive this firm into the ground. There's no _way_ he's done with us. This little power play was just his first move, and you know it."

"Let me finish, Harvey. We are going to _wait_ until we can attack from a position of _strength_," she emphasized with an air of finality.

Harvey pursed his lips. A bundle of dark clouds was beginning to gather in the distance. It was only fitting that this beautiful afternoon should end in a thunderstorm, he thought.

"I may be able to help with that," he said finally, removing the date stamp from his pocket. He proceeded to tell her the story of Hardman's deception, making sure to underscore the fact that Donna Paulsen _never_ makes mistakes. Before he knew it, he was all wound up again, ready to take a swing at anyone and anything even remotely related to Daniel Hardman.

Jessica was unimpressed.

"It's not that I don't believe you, Harvey, it's just that you have no _proof_. Find some, and we can take this before the partners. Until then, you know there's nothing we can do."

Harvey did know. And he hated it. He hated how helpless it made him feel. "I guess everyone else was playing chess after all," he sighed. "Maybe we were the ones playing checkers. Hell, we were probably playing Yahtzee."

Jessica nodded. "And now the board is set. The pieces are moving." She smiled sideways at Harvey, inviting him to pick up the rest of the line.

He happily obliged. "We come to it at last...the great battle of our time." They took a moment to stare dramatically into the distance. Harvey smiled. "Lord of the Rings? Really? I wouldn't take you for a fan."

"Are you kidding me? I _live_ for that moment in Return of the King when the witch king kills Eowyn's uncle, and he's like 'You fool. No man can kill me' and she takes off her helmet and says–"

"'I am no man!'" Harvey finished with a chuckle. "And then she stabs him in the face. Yeah. It all makes sense to me now."

The two stood for a moment in silence.

"We're going to win, Harvey."

"I know. And whatever happens between now and then...we're in it together. You can count on that." Harvey placed a reassuring hand on her forearm before turning to walk away.

* * *

"Anne Campbell?" Mike asked tentatively. The woman in front of him was small in stature and big in spunk...at least, her spiky black hair and colorful full sleeve tattoos suggested as much. She was bent over a black leather camera bag, carefully packing lenses into their proper compartments. She stole a brief glance at Mike and Rachel before returning to the task at hand.

"If you want to set up a wedding shoot, you can talk to my assistant Bobbie," Anne gestured to a stocky blonde woman in the next room of the photo studio/gallery. Bobbie was busy making pencil marks on the wall, probably in preparation for a new photo display.

"I—uh...no. Actually, my name is Mike Ross and I'm an attorney with Pearson Hardman. And this is Rachel Zane, my uh...a fellow associate. I was wondering if you had a moment to speak with us about Graham Swartz."

Anne looked up. "Is Graham in trouble? He was my student once, you know. New York Institute of Photography."

"He could certainly use your help," Mike replied.

Anne sighed. "Look, I'm on my way to set up for a shoot, and my assistant is home sick...but what the hell. You two wanna ride along? We can talk on the way." Before Mike or Rachel could reply, she handed them each a piece of equipment—a tripod for Rachel and a set of reflectors for Mike. "Since Francis is gone, you can help me pack. Oh—and please, call me Annie."

They were headed for an outdoor wedding at Conservatory Garden in Central Park. It was a beautiful day in New York and the garden would be flourishing this time of year (though, Rachel thought regretfully, the park's famous cherry blossoms had long since bloomed). Mike was in the front passenger seat bringing Annie up to speed on Graham's case.

"At the Institute, I taught Graham all I knew about portrait photography. I guess I should have spent a little less time on the golden ratio and a little more time on how to protect himself from scoundrels like this."

"I think Graham knew how to protect himself. He had a great contract worked up...he just didn't use it. Chris was a buddy, so he let it slide," Mike said.

"You can hardly trust your own _grandmother_ these days," Annie commented, shaking her head. Mike winced; luckily, she didn't notice. "Well, what can I do to help?"

Rachel chimed in from the backseat. "We'd like to see what you think of Graham's work. Basically, we need to know if you'd be willing to testify as an expert witness if this goes to trial."

"Be happy to," Annie said as she pulled into a [miraculously] free parking spot. "You two mind helping me again? The faster I get set up, the sooner I can sit down and take a look."

"Sure, no problem" Rachel said. Together, the three crossed the park, each with an armful of gear. About three hundred white chairs were set up in a large grassy area bordered by cherry trees on one side, and a long pergola on the other. Relatives of the bride were busy tying blue ribbons on the chairs along the center aisle.

Mike and Rachel positioned tripods and reflector stands according to Annie's instructions while Annie herself took test shots, carefully measuring the amount of available light. Twenty minutes later, they sat down on a park bench with a portfolio of pictures from Chris and Jillian's wedding.

Annie flipped slowly through the album, pausing at a picture of Jillian coming up the aisle.

"Look at this," she said, pointing. "See how the light catches her eye like that? This must have been early evening, as the sun was starting to get low. The light is perfect that time of day; in fact, photographers like to call it the 'golden hour.' Graham took advantage of the way the light was streaming through those big church windows. It's beautiful, really."

Mike's focus had somehow shifted from the photograph in front of him to Rachel's face. She was wearing a sort of dreamy expression...the kind that women often get when they think about weddings. "She sure is," he said quietly.

"Photography is all about light," Annie continued. "Graham could see light in a way that most other students couldn't. It's hard to explain..."

"I think I get it," Rachel said, smiling.

Annie smiled back. "Listen, if this goes to trial, I'm there. I can explain why each and every one of these shots deserves a place on that couple's mantelpiece." She handed the binder of photos back to Rachel before shaking her hand and slipping her a business card. "If either of you ever need anything—professional head shots, pet portraits, engagement photos—let me know. First hour's on the house."

"Thank you Annie. Good luck with the shoot," Mike said, shaking her hand.

He and Rachel made their way slowly back through the garden, taking time to appreciate the flowers and sculptures adorning both sides of the path. Well...Rachel appreciated those things, at least. Mike mostly just appreciated Rachel.

He was going to tell her his secret. He had thought long and hard about it after Harvey left his apartment, and he had made his decision (although, it wasn't until he uncovered his own faulty logic that he changed his mind).

As it turned out, he had some strange standards for the relationships in his life. He couldn't keep the truth from his girlfriend, but he could keep the truth from his _friend_? How did _that_ make sense? Weren't friends more important, in a come-as-you-are, stick-with-you-to-the-bitter-end sort of way? It didn't matter whether Rachel was just a friend or something more—he couldn't lie to her.

And of course, he'd prefer it if she was something more. Which is why, when the storm clouds rolled in and brazenly unleashed their fury, he grabbed her hand as they ran screaming and giggling into the cover of a nearby gazebo. It was one of those crazy, flash-flood-causing downpours that seem to only happen in movies—the kind that soaks you to the bone in a matter of seconds.

They stared at each other, dripping wet and breathing heavily, as the rain hammered on the roof. Rachel's dress clung tightly to her body. Mike could feel water slowly making its way to the bottom of his shoes.

He had a brief thought about Annie's poor camera equipment (did she have time to cover it up?) before he was completely engulfed by Rachel Zane.

She had reeled him in by his tie and their lips met—softly at first, then hungrily, maybe even _desperately_, as if the only time they had was the time until the rain stopped. They stumbled backward against one of the support pillars; her fingers were tangled in his hair and his hands grasped firmly around her waist. Later they would agree that the strong scent of wet flowers had been utterly intoxicating.

When they finally pulled apart, Rachel wasted no time cutting to the chase. "Look, Mike, I know this doesn't change anything, but—"

"I want to tell you everything!" Mike blurted.

Rachel scoffed. "'I want to tell you everything but I _can't_'," she repeated, revising his statement. "I know that's what you're really saying."

"No, I _can_. And I will. Just...just not today. Alright? Rachel, I'm so, _so_ sorry. For keeping this from you. For...for everything."

Rachel examined his face carefully in an attempt to judge his sincerity. Mike looked as earnest as he always did. She loved that about him.

She sighed. "Alright," she said slowly. "When you're ready." She smiled as he pulled her gently into another kiss. This time, they were in no hurry. They were in no hurry at all.

* * *

Harvey sat idly at his desk, attempting uselessly to control the rage coursing through his veins. He examined his knuckles. The skin had cracked at the base of his ring finger, no doubt a result of its visit to Louis's face. He glanced at Donna's desk. It was empty.

If it hadn't been, she might've been able to stop him from doing what he did next.

He was just going to go for a stroll to calm his nerves...that is, if "go for a stroll" meant "hunt down Hardman" and "calm his nerves" meant "get revenge." It was late, and almost all of the associates had gone home. It was the perfect time for a confrontation of sorts.

He ran into him in the bullpen, of all places. Daniel's smile was warm, but his eyes were cold as ice.

"Harvey! I've been meaning to talk to you. I'm know we got off to—"

But Harvey wasn't having it. "Oh cut the crap, Daniel. I know what you did."

"Excuse me?"

"That memo. _You planted it_. That entire fraud investigation was just a ploy to ensure that _you_ wound up number one, and Jessica wound up number two."

Daniel laughed.

"_Incredible_. Just incredible." He shook his head slowly, still smiling. "I've been managing partner for a whole eight hours and already you're accusing me of something."

"You don't deny it, then?"

"Of course I do. I did no such thing."

"Then explain this." Harvey dangled the date stamp in front of Hardman's face.

"Where did you get that?"

"It was found in your office." Harvey said, careful not to implicate anyone in particular.

"Are you sure it wasn't found in _your_ office?" Daniel asked calmly. Harvey was confused.

"What?"

"Look around and you'll see that I took the liberty of ordering _everyone_ a new date stamp, including you. Red ink is much more noticeable than blue...don't you agree?"

Harvey swallowed hard as his eyes wandered the room. Sure enough, a shiny new stamp sat on every associate's desk. Was there any way he could make this murder look like an accident? Outside, rain pounded against the windows in sheets. Harvey thought he heard thunder rumbling in the distance.

He gritted his teeth. "When." It was more of an accusation than a question.

"I ordered them yesterday morning. The one you found was probably the sample I received the week before," Daniel said cheerily. He was going to enjoy watching Harvey boil over.

"Bullshit," Harvey growled.

"Careful Harvey. Remember, I _am_ your boss now and you have no proof that I've done anything wrong. Perhaps we should talk again tomorrow, when you've had an opportunity to think this through."

Harvey chewed his words, fuming. He clenched his jaw to keep them from all tumbling out at once. This was not a good time for word vomit. It was a time to be thoughtful, calculating. But before he could say anything, Daniel bid him goodnight. When he reached the far end of the bullpen, he turned.

"Oh, and one more thing." He gestured to the associates' desks. "I think you'll find that this is only the first of many changes around here. Changes that need to be made."

"Is that a threat? Because I'm coming after you, Daniel. I kicked your ass out of here once, and so help me _I will do it again_."

Ugh, why did he keep _smiling_ like that? The man was like a shiny red apple, laced with poison.

"Good luck," Daniel said evenly. "Last time, you got to me through the people I love. Harvey please know that I will have _no_ trouble doing the same to you. And that's not a threat; it's a promise." And he walked away.

Harvey felt sick to his stomach. He also felt ridiculously confused. What had just happened? How had he not noticed that new stamp on his desk? And who on _earth_ were the people he loved? After all, he had always made a careful point to avoid loving anyone but himself.

...except that he hadn't.

Was Hardman threatening Donna? Harvey felt a fresh wave of anger wash over him. He quickly made his way back to his office to grab his briefcase. All he knew was that he had to get out of this place.

When he walked through the door, he found Mike, Rachel and Donna waiting for him. Mike stood up first.

"Harvey! We just heard about the vote. What's the plan?"

Harvey noted silently that Mike had changed clothes, and that Rachel had been sitting awfully close. They had been gone for a long time.

"What are you talking about?"

"The plan! We're going to get rid of Hardman, right? What's our first move?"

"Go home," Harvey said firmly. "There is no plan." God he was cranky. Now was not the time to talk about this. When no one said anything, he raised his voice. "NOW! I mean it. All of you, out."

"Are you—"

"OUT."

"Ok!" Mike shot Rachel a meaningful glance and the two of them exited without another word. Donna lingered, her fingers tracing the edge of Harvey's desk.

"Donna, please." He looked at her pleadingly. He didn't want to raise his voice to her again.

She sighed. Harvey could see something in her eyes...something that looked like pain, or maybe regret. "Goodnight Harvey," was all she said as she followed the other two to the elevators.

Harvey sat at his desk and rested his face in his hands. Winning had become a part of his identity these past few years. And now...now he had lost so many times in the space of a month that he didn't even know who he was anymore. He had entered the bullpen as a prosecutor. He had left as the defense. After all, his only chance of success now lay in defending the people he cared about. The people he cared about...

And the person he loved.

_To be continued._

**A/N #2: Edited to fix the LOTR reference. Can't believe I screwed that one up...I blame lack of sleep. :D Thanks Shanynde for pointing that out.**


	6. Ch 6: The Confession

"My office, _now_."

It was seven thirty in the morning and Harvey had barely stepped out of the elevator. "How long have you—"

"Long enough." Jessica motioned for him to walk with her. Yes, she had been waiting angrily in front of the elevator doors for quite long enough. Three groups of people had arrived before Harvey, and she had pretty much scared the piss out of Harold.

When they finally reached her office, Jessica shut the door quietly. "What did you say to Daniel?" she hissed.

"Why, what did he—"

"He's giving your office to Louis."

"What?!"

"You're to move your things out by the end of the day. Now Harvey, I'm going to ask you again: what. did. you. _say_?"

Harvey sighed. "I accused him of planting the memo—"

"God, Harvey." Jessica placed a hand over her face, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration.

"_He framed me_!" Harvey shouted angrily.

"And _you've_ just shown him our hand!" Jessica shouted back. "We needed more time...and now we've got nothing. _Nothing_!"

Harvey paused. He wasn't sure he wanted to say this. "It's worse..." he said, grimacing.

"Tell me."

"He threatened me. Said he was going to get me through the people I care about...the same way we got to him." He decided to leave out the "love" part.

"And now he's putting his new right-hand man in _your _office. Louis will do whatever it takes to bring you down; you _know_ that. Maybe if you had been a little nicer..."

"Oh come on! It's _Louis_. Besides, he didn't even—" Harvey stopped himself. _Wait a second_. If Jessica didn't know that Louis was loyal, and Daniel didn't know that he _wasn't_...well then maybe they could use that to their advantage. But it would take some incredible courage on Louis's part, and Harvey wasn't sure he was up to the task.

"He didn't even what?" Jessica eyed him expectantly.

"He didn't even have the balls to tell me this himself. Normally he would jump at the chance to rub this in my face," he finished lamely.

"Oh, I'm sure he will. Just give him time."

"Look, we'll find another way to get Hardman. People always act according to their nature."

"Once a sick bastard, always a sick bastard," Jessica finished his thought.

"Exactly."

"You'd better hope you're right, Harvey. Because if you just blew our only chance..."

"I didn't. Ok? Let me fix this."

"Fine. I guess you'd better start packing."

Harvey nodded. "I'm going to fix this," he said confidently, for his benefit as much as hers.

* * *

He saw her from afar and his heart stopped. She was packing up her desk. Into a single cardboard box. _No._

_NO. _

_No no no no no. Not again._

"Donna..." he said sharply, making no effort to conceal how panicky he felt. "Donna what are you doing?"

When he reached her cubicle, she was removing the can opener from her desk drawer. He took hold of it, but she didn't let go. They stood there for a moment, both holding the can opener, staring at one another.

"I'm moving my things to Norma's desk," Donna said slowly, as if talking to a child. "What are _you_ doing?"

"You're...oh. Wait. How did you know before me?"

Donna offered her other hand. "Hi, Donna Paulsen, nice to meet you."

Harvey rolled his eyes and let go of the can opener.

"Wait a minute," Donna said, smiling. "You thought I was fired?"

"No."

"You thought I was fired!" she laughed. But all Harvey could hear were Hardman's threatening words and all he could see was Donna standing in the elevator with that damn cardboard box as the doors closed and his throat constricted and he thought she would never forgive him (even though he still hadn't quite forgiven her) and... and well, he didn't feel like laughing.

"Yeah yeah. Are you going to help me or what?" Harvey gestured to his office.

"Are you going to talk to Louis?"

"About what?" _Wait, could she seriously read his mind?_

"Hmm, I don't know. Maybe about how you punched him in the face?"

Harvey scoffed. "Please. We're guys! Trust me, he's over it. I do need to talk to him, though." He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "Jessica doesn't know he voted for her."

Donna nodded thoughtfully. "And Daniel doesn't know he didn't," she finished. "And if Norma sits _here_...she can spy on all the conversations in his office!" she grinned at her own epiphany.

Harvey smiled and gave her hand a squeeze. "This is why I keep you around," he said before striding off towards Louis's office.

"The only reason?!" Donna called after him.

Harvey turned and pointed to his ear as if he couldn't hear her. She rolled her eyes. It was a little game they played and it made her feel like maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay after all.

* * *

Louis braced himself for the worst. Harvey _loved_ his office. There was no way he was going to take this lightly.

"Please don't hit me!" He winced and took several steps back as Harvey entered.

"Relax, Louis. I'm not going to hit you." Harvey held his hands up, palms out, as a gesture of peace.

Louis eyed him suspiciously. "Why?" And then, "Oh my God. Am I fired?"

"What? No. Listen, this whole situation...us switching offices? It's a _good thing_."

"I'm not following."

Harvey let out an exasperated sigh. "Daniel obviously trusts you. He thinks you voted for him, which means..."

"...that I can spy on him for you and Jessica," Louis nodded enthusiastically.

"Well...almost. That's what I came to talk to you about. Jessica still thinks you've betrayed her."

"But you corrected her, right?"

"No, and I'm not going to," Harvey had to hold up a hand to keep Louis from arguing. "The only people that know you're on our side are me and Donna, and I think we should keep it that way. Think about it. If Jessica suddenly starts treating you like 'Employee of the Month,' Daniel's going to get suspicious. We need her to think you're on his side."

"Can't she just act like she hates me?"

"Trust me, the less people that have to act, the better."

Louis sighed. "So I'm like, what, some kind of double agent?"

"Something like that. And it's not going to be easy. You're going to have to take a lot of crap that—for once—you don't actually deserve." Louis straightened up. His expression was classic: a mixture of raw determination and that desperate eagerness to please (and as a result, be recognized for his achievements). Harvey half-expected him to salute.

"Harvey, you can count on me. I promise I'll do whatever it takes. I'll be like James Bond..."

"No."

"Jason Bourne."

"Uh uh." Harvey shook his head.

"Severus Snape?"

"Who?"

"You haven't read Harry Potter?"

"Ok. This conversation is over." Harvey turned to leave.

"Harvey wait!" Harvey turned back reluctantly.

"Don't forget, I have _this_." Louis patted his breast pocket where Harvey knew he kept his beloved dictaphone.

Harvey smiled. "Thank you, Louis."

Louis grinned. He could get used to this—being treated nicely by Harvey, that is. "You're welcome Harvey," he said earnestly. As the door closed behind him, Louis checked his reflection in the glass. He frowned. He didn't _look_ like a special agent, though he certainly felt like one. Maybe it was time to buy a new suit.

* * *

Donna was exhausted. It had been a long day of sorting and bending and lifting and organizing and—in her case—supervising. Keeping moving men away from Harvey's balls was like defending a lightbulb from a horde of insects. Not to mention his record collection...she hadn't even let them _look _at his record collection. She packed and sealed those babies herself. And now she was unsealing and unpacking them, one by one, even though the sun had long since set and any secretary in their right mind would have gone home hours ago.

It didn't help that she had to pause and read the liner notes on almost every album. She couldn't help herself...reading the backs of those dust sleeves was like reading Harvey's diary. The man claimed to have no emotions; the truth was, anyone wishing to understand Harvey Specter just needed to know where to look. His whole heart was laid bare on those record shelves. He let the music say for him what he could never say for himself.

She sighed. She hoped there would be enough room for them all. Louis's office _was_ smaller, but she thought she could make it work. Make it feel like home again, at least until this whole ordeal was over. Right now it actually felt pretty cozy, with all the lights off save for a single lamp near the bookshelves.

Harvey cleared his throat. He had been leaning against the door frame for some time, fascinated by the care with which Donna attended to all of his belongings. Mesmerized by how graceful she looked as she slid each album into its proper place. Impressed by the fact that she knew exactly where each one belonged. Twelve years, and she still managed to surprise him. That was incredible.

"Thanks," he said simply. "You didn't have to stay late."

Donna gave him a nod in reply. Even in the low light she noticed immediately how tired he looked. Like he hadn't slept in days. When she finally spoke, her voice echoed his expression of weariness and defeat. "What are we gonna do, Harv?"

Harvey shrugged. "We could have sex on Louis's desk." He gestured toward the desk with his thumb as he made his way across the room.

He was only joking, of course. Well...sort of.

Donna shot him a _you know what I meant_ sort of look. He sighed. "We'll do what we always do," he said firmly. "We'll win."

"But right now..." he continued, reaching over her head to pull a record down from the shelf, "how about we dance?" As Otis Redding's voice began to float from the speakers, he offered her his hand.

It had been a long time since they'd last danced. Donna had forgotten how natural it felt. Silently, she analyzed his song choice. In a way, it didn't matter which track he picked; to Harvey, Otis Redding always represented longing. Longing for something distant...something that would forever be just slightly out of reach. It made her feel sad for him, and by extension herself—because in a way, she _was _an extension of him (or was it the other way around?). Perhaps he was longing for his dad tonight...she didn't know. She wondered what Gordon Specter would have thought about Daniel Hardman.

_I got dreams, dreams to remember..._

"I'm sorry I threw you out of my office last night," Harvey said suddenly.

Donna was startled. "Well, if we're apologizing for things..." she drifted off. She had rehearsed this conversation so many times in her head, but now...now none of those words seemed right. They seemed more like a string of excuses and less like a real apology. She bit her lip. She would just have to do what she did best: fly by the seat of her pants. She just hoped she wouldn't say anything stupid.

"I'm sorry Harvey." _Good start_, she thought. "Real or not, when I shredded that memo...I was only thinking about myself. I mean, I thought...well, I don't know what I thought. I panicked! I didn't want either one of us to take the fall."

"I know," Harvey said.

"It's just...that man _died_. It made me feel sick, and...and that's no excuse either. Look, I made a mistake. And Harvey: I'm really, _really_ sorry."

Harvey smiled and twirled her around as the brass band kicked in.

_I still want you to stay_  
_I still love you anyway_  
_I still don't want you to ever leave_

As the song began to fade out, Harvey slowed them to a stop. They were close...too close, Donna thought. When their eyes met, she saw it.

Longing.

Not for his dad, or his office, or happier times.

"Donna..." he began.

"Harvey." She shot him a warning glance. "Don't."

"Please let me say this," he pushed. The record player gave one last pop as the arm returned to its resting position.

"You won't be able to take it back."

"Maybe I won't want to take it back."

She shut up. She found herself unable to maintain eye contact with him; instead, she focused on the pattern of his tie.

"The other day, on the street. You told me you weren't in love with me."

"Harvey..."

"The thing is, I am."

Donna paused. "You're in love with you? That's hardly news." She knew what he meant. But maybe, just maybe, if she made a joke, she could erase it like it never happened.

"I'm in love with _you_. I love you, Donna."

Donna's face was inscrutable. She just stared at him, mouth slightly agape, her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

The two of them hadn't moved since the song stopped, so when Louis Litt chose the worst moment in the course of human history to barge into his old office, he found them standing amidst a sea of mostly empty boxes, Harvey's hand still on the small of Donna's back, their fingers intertwined...

"Oh! Uh..." Louis cleared his throat. "Hi. Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds, but I have some bad news. It can't wait."

"Then speak." Harvey said through gritted teeth. He slowly untangled himself from Donna and took a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets impatiently. Donna sat down on the arm of a chair and became fascinated with her fingernails.

Louis spoke quietly, as if he thought someone else might be listening. "Hardman's having me investigate you. Not just you, Harvey, but you too Donna... and Jessica and Mike."

"What's he hoping to find?" Donna asked.

"Anything," Louis said. "Anything he can use against you."

"Shocking," Harvey muttered.

"What's the point? If he doesn't find anything, he's just going to make something up," Donna said. "Lying and framing people seem to be his forte."

Harvey sat on the edge of his desk and rubbed his eyes. For a moment, everyone was silent.

"Uh...guys?" Louis asked tentatively. "That wasn't the bad news."

"What is it?" Harvey asked wearily.

"It's Mike Ross."

Harvey and Donna froze.

"I don't know how to say this, Harvey. I spent all day looking into him." Louis paused, biting his lip. He took a deep breath.

"Mike Ross is a fraud."

_To be continued._


End file.
